The Transformation [Undergoing Editing]

Chapter Nine: Memories hurt.....if you remember them or not.

Chapter Nine: Memories Hurt....if you remember them or not

"Let's get you too downstairs, dinners almost ready." Chris's sister said, she had helped me situate my new room in the Alpha's house. Chris owned the house now that he was Alpha, and permitted his entire family to live with him, but even at that there was still tons of empty room space here. My room was easily twice as big as the one at Cynthia's and George's house, I was told because the pack contributed half there salary each year for the Alpha's paycheck. Yeah, that would suck if you were just a regular old werewolf in this pack, but for one that was allowed in the house, it was all perks.

Chris's sister was Veronica, and she was slightly younger than his younger brother, at fifteen. Her long luxurious black hair hung lightly above her shoulders. She looked like a younger replica of their mother, even had the same height. She had tried to cheer me up by going through all her old clothes, giving me anything I wanted. She had a lot of clothes, most of them she didn't even wear because they went out of the fashion for that week. I wasn't picky though and ended up with a good sized wardrobe.

Even through her attempts, I was still fuming slightly from the 'Betrothed' thing with Chris and Ambrosia. Veronica didn't know I was mad about that, but she knew something was up. Jake came rushing between the door between our rooms, "I have millions of stuffed animals!" he exclaimed, his arms so full I could barely see his face through all the different kinds of stuffed animals he had. His brilliant smile distinguished him from the fake lions and dogs, his little eyes twinkling with excitement. Before I even had the time to respond, he ran back to his room, the door softly swinging shut behind him. I let out a light chuckle, so did Veronica. He was just too cute to stay mad at anything when he was around.

She and I walked out my door leading out into the hall, shutting the door tightly. She locked the door with a key, then handed it to me, "There's a lot of people in this house, you never know what might go down." She said simply, I shrugged.

The house had a very wilderness feel, without all the hanging stuffed animals. It was filled with rich wood floorboards and trimmings, the smell pleasantly filling all my senses. My eyes went wide as my mind took me into another daydream of mine.

"Now, Soren, you know that the pack is far from having to resort to the betrothal of a ten-year old and thirteen year-old. I'm far from retiring from the position." The father from the previous dream said to a man that I recognized. Oh, it was Chris's dad, the one I saw holding his mother's hand.

"Yes, but you know Chris is the next in line for the Alpha position, he is the best for the job and the lifestyle. McKenzie, Kenzie is going to grow up very soon, and I know that you are not going to be a young brimming father for very long. The next generation is going to take over, and have a better reign than us. This betrothal just seals the deal and future for the pack." Soren, pleaded. I realized they were standing in the very same room Chris's mom had taken me to while showing me the house. She called it the den, it was where all the official politics and stuff were held for the Alpha and pack. It was like looking into an older, newer looking version of the room, when I realized that they said my name, I started thinking I was looking into my past.

I had forgotten everything from before the age of twelve, it hurt that I held no feelings for the guy in the picture who was my father. A tear slipped down my invisible cheek as I continued to look upon the scene.

"She's ten! Also that betrothal/contract stuff hasn't been used in packs for nearly two centuries. I would know, the same thing happened when my father had me marry Fiona. I'm not going to let the same thing happen to my children if I can help it."

"But you can't, you're what? On the edge of 200. Your years may not be timed, but if you don't let our children take over what we have started, than progress will never be made, and to progress you must look into the past. Hear me out, your daughter already looks up to Crispin as a role model, they aren't that many years apart, only three. Me and Marge are easily ten years apart, its not a big deal in the long run. When their our age, it will be close to nothing, almost like months. If we make this agreement everything can go smoothly for the future." My father's eyes had gone from their normal liquid silver, to a hard steel. His jaw was clenching and unclenching, he was thinking seriously about this. I was debating with myself whether I wanted to be betrothed to Chris or not, apparently I had known him my whole life. But this was the past, it couldn't be changed, whatever was done in this is done. They wouldn't be able to hear my silent preferences anyway.

"Fine......I guess you do have a point." He finally said, running a hand through his brown hair, making it stick up on end. Soren just smiled and pulled out a piece of paper from his back pocket and a pen from his shirt pocket.

"You already had the contract made up!" my father grumbled, his hand was hesitant to take the pen. Looking down at the paper I saw my full name and Chris's, then a bunch of legal stuff including the ages of 21 and 18. He scrawled his name on the dotted line, and handed the pen to Soren, which he took and signed his own name. "There that wasn't so bad, and if anything happens to either it will just go to the next person in line after them, but I'm sure it won't"

The picture went into a bright light and came back down in the same room, but this time a twelve-year old me and a one month old Jake were huddled in the corner of the now darkened room. I was holding Jake close to my chest; he was so small in my arms, and looked about to cry.

"No...no shhh.....it's alright, be quiet or they'll hear us." My voice was higher pitched with my young age, and shook with fear. A loud crash came from the kitchen making us both cringe, pots and pans clattered to the floor.

I quickly clamped a firm hand over Jake's mouth so he wouldn't make a noise; voices arose from the place where the pans crashed. "Where are they?" a woman's voice yelled, and another, I recognized as my mother's screamed back. "They left with their father," she snarled, her voice distorted.

"Well, that's just too bad, we'll just have to send another party after him too, now won't we?" the other woman's voice was sickly sweet, sugar-coated venom dripping off every word. My mother snarled again, and I heard a distinct growl as she lunged for the lady, the sound of rock crunching as they both hit the wall that was shared with the den. Then a high-pitched screeching sound pierced through the air, cutting off the woman's snarls and growls. There was silence.

Nothing moved for the longest of times, then a shuffling and a squeak of rubber on linoleum. The door burst open, showing my mother, her face distraught and nervous. She immediately became relieved when her eyes rested upon me and Jake. Wordlessly she pulled them both up and dragged them fast out of the house, making sure they did not see the state of the kitchen.

In the same motion of which she took us down the front steps, she swung me and Jake into her arms, and took off. The ground turned one color beneath her feet and the trees became a blur.

We stopped in front of the second house we kept, and with us both still in her solid arms, she kicked the door open. Throwing us down onto the bed in the spare room, she whirled around locking all the doors and windows, pulling the curtains shut. When she finally plopped down on the bed with us, she was breathing hard and her face was covered in a light sheen of sweat.

We had all fallen asleep and I thought for sure the vision was going to change, but instead we were all woken up by the smashing of glass, and light whisper of flames. My mother cried out as the door slammed into the room, coming off the hinges, hanging limply against the frame. A tall, lean woman was standing in the doorway, her lips drawn back in a snarl. She was across the room, with my mother's neck in her hands, both of their eyes gleaming dangerously.

But my mother was too worn out from the first encounter only hours earlier, and the woman made swift work of killing her off. With a flex of her hands, she snapped my mother's neck, and as her last gasp of air left her body she breathed, "Be strong," faintly, but I could hear it.

"You MURDERER!" the scream ripped from my throat, and surprisingly fast for a twelve year old I lunged at her. I hit her straight in the stomach, knocking the wind out of both of us. We came crashing to the floor, the wood cracking under her head as it slammed down. She hissed under her breathe, as I grabbed her throat the same way she had my mother's. My head swam with hatred and fury, pushing back the grief; I slammed her head over and over again into the wood floors, hearing a satisfying crack with each blow.

She pushed me off her and I flew back into the stain glass windows, having them shatter at impact. Glass flew all around me, and blood flowed from my forehead. My vision blurred and I gasped, "MOM!" right before I passed out.

"Yeah, she's the one," another voice said in the blackness of my closed eyes.

The sharp sting of a slap hit my face, and I jerked up, "Wh..." Veronica was leaning over me, her face filled with concern.

"Are you alright? You passed out, I was so afraid you were dying, oh, gosh, are you alright..." she rambled on. I rolled my eyes, but found my cheeks wet with tears. I quickly wiped them off my face with my sleeve, "I'm fine, come on, I'm hungry, dinner's ready right?"